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weirdmarioenemies · 1 year ago

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This is a post about GUBBLE

Gubble is funny, we all know this. Look at Gubble, look and giggle. But Gubble is not just something to laugh at, it is something to laugh WITH! It is a fun little game full of nonsense words and weird little creatures. I highly recommend reading the manual, which you can find here, as it is actually rather funny! I will be talking about some of my favorite Gubble Creatures! So here I am, posting a Gubble. It's Friday, alright!

Gubble D. Gleep

Oh hell yeah! Look at that rendering. I never want to see Gubble in a "good" rendering style. I don't think he would be able to breathe. Gubble is the main Gubble Creature. He is a funny alien! The gleep glorp kind! He has a wacky skin color and antennae, but his big defining features are his ears, which he is very proud of. I do not know how they work! It is weird to see an alien with antennae AND ears, since I always assume alien antennae are for detecting sound, but maybe Gubble's are like regular animal antennae, and are for smelling!

Gubble makes all sorts of weird noises as he flies around in his, I quote, "mini-spaceship pod thing". He uses that to unscrew screws and pry out nails and anything else he needs to do to detach Zymbots from the surface of the planet Rennigar, and Zymbots are the levels, and you see the word "Zymbot" a LOT in this game, and I think that is wonderful.

They even put "Zymbot" on the cover of the sequel! That only makes the information more confusing than it otherwise would have been. I am all for it! But what awaits you, among the Zymbots...?

Wangry Wobot

"They are red and they are angry. Unfortunately, they don't know what they are angry about, but they know they like to follow aliens around."

Look at this! See what I mean? The manual is so delightful! Wangry Wobot... such a wonderful name! This wobot is wangry... or I should say, this wobot is angry, because the description informs us that it is angry, and Wangry Wobot is its name. All it does is walk, but in a funny way, with those legs sliding back and forth on its body, not bending or anything. I love how flat and minimalist this thing is. Built and programmed just to walk around, yet built with the capacity for anger...

Wangry Wobot Wannabee

"They are not-quite-red (blue actually), but they want to be every bit as angry as the Wangry Wobots. They haven’t learned how to follow aliens yet, so they just wander around aimlessly. Pathetic, really, but oh well…"

Hey! Be nice to them! If Wangry Wobot is Gubble's Goomba, then the Wannabee is Gubble's Goombrat. These are even more endearing with their personality! They look up to Wangry Wobots so much, like a younger sibling or maybe even a child, a freshly hatched robot from a metal egg. I wish we had funny robots like this in real life, but the only ones they make in real life these days are evil. Hopefully it will one day be economically feasible to fund some funny robots that walk around town and do literally nothing but kind of get in the way. Would be cool!

FlatWorm

"These guys like to sneak up on you unnoticed and cause grief and misery."

Wow! I would not have expected to see notable Creature Representation in Gubble of all things, but here we have a platyhelminth that at least I think is pretty clearly a stylized planarian! This one is a funny shape, like a shoehorn, and has a funny depth to it, like it was cut out of a sheet of dough. Now, normally I would be telling you that no animal is morally bad, they don't have the capacity for it, but we are told in FlatWorm's description that it is, indeed, messed up and evil. Just get away from it, please! Get back to the zymbot! Had you forgotten about the zymbot?

Orb

"They just roam around over your head. They're orbs, ya know?"

I am not sure I know! But they are cool orbs! Good job making some orbs! Their eyes make them look like giant ostracods, the most orbtastic creature of all!

Slug Bug

"An example of the bizarre Rennigar fauna. Man, somebody must have gone pop-eyed when that monster was created."

Created??? These creatures were Created??? Even the non-mechanical ones? By who? Mad scientists? Gubble God? I don't know! Whoever it was, I don't think they know what a slug is, though. Pincers, segments, bristles, this is all bug, no slug! Like some kind of larva to me. The five eyes are goofy, but most insects technically do have five eyes, with two compound eyes and three little ocelli on top!

Drone

"Originally used as repair drones, these spidery-looking things will use their pinchers on you just as effectively. Stay out of their reach!"

Look, it's Drone! Like they keep putting in the cartoons to keep them timely! I am fascinated by the manual for calling these "spidery-looking", since it is clearly some kind of roboshark head with pinchy claws. Did you know? Real spiders do not look like robosharks! However, I am not saying the manual is WRONG. Maybe "spider" means something entirely different than the way we Earthlings use it. After all, we say "level" instead of "zymbot", like a bunch of knuckleheads!

Uurrgghh

"The stories go that the Uurrgghhs used to be somebody's eyes and were stolen. Now they roam back and forth looking for their owner. And if they can't find their owner, you would do as well. Want a pair of alien eyes?"

I will bookend this post with another of the silliest enemy names. We really go from Drone right to Uurrgghh. Awesome! Uurrgghh is almost a fantasy creature, a classic eyeball with bat wings, but it has this cool metal exoskeleton or helmet with droopy horns, and three tentacles emerging from the bottom, so it is also fittingly sci-fi, which I think is very fun. I don't think they looked like that when they were just someone's eyes, but put on this protective outfit to stay moist and healthy while flying around with no eyelids. Would you welcome them into your sockets? They don't HAVE to replace your current eyes. They could all be friends!

So those are just some of my favorite silly things from Gubble! If you did not know much about Gubble, I hope you have a new appreciation for it! Be careful out there on those zymbots!

#gubble #gubble d gleep #wangry wobot #wangry wobot wannabee #flatworm #orb #slug bug #drone #uurrgghh #gubble enemies #not mario #funky friday #mod chikako

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askthedarksidersfam · 8 months ago

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In the Pines

Chapter 2- Death Throes

A new stranger arrives at the Dead Kingdom, and you question if he is friend or foe...

The method of dying isn’t a stranger to War. It is an unwelcome experience than a closely held fear that all creatures hold close to their chests. He wouldn’t be one to boast about having been through the whole entirety of dying, but he wouldn’t shy away from exclaiming he doesn’t fear it.

This time however, War can’t ignore the waves of shame that ache like a slug to the gut. Indeed, he’d felt shame when he perished in battle when carrying the Ravaiim relic to safety. But this was beyond what he felt all those eons ago.

A failure to keep a relic away from enemy hands was vastly overshadowed by the obliteration of War’s image, his legendary honor. All knew of War’s pride of being the warrior he was, the oaths he’d made and the extensions he’d reach to see them fulfilled. He’d been a poster child, in a sense, of the perfect enforcer of the Balance. The favorite of the Council with his diligent work ethic, outshining them all in how he’d throw himself into his duties. As if he’d have something to prove despite the need not to.

How far he’d fallen…

Stripped of his power, thoroughly chewed out by the Council and put under their chopping block to serve as their punishment for a supposed crime he didn’t commit.

After War opened his eyes, he didn’t need to see the sickly green hue clinging to his being to know he’s been transported to the Kingdom of the Dead. The stench of stale air and a musk of the ever decaying souls assaults his nose. Beneath him is a ground devoid of any green, and instead substituted with layers of dust that flutter through the air at the slightest disturbance.

He can still feel the vague wetness of tears that trail his cheeks. The rider never felt more vulnerable than before.

The racing images of the past events came flooding through his mind, from the moment of the call to his arrival. The chance meeting with Abaddon…

Abaddon. He must be here, War vaguely thinks between the onslaught of thoughts that plague his mind. If he can find him here, then he will find out why he was there… one way or another…

But that very thought sends a wave of anger through his chest, as War is only able to reflect on the accusations and confusion that follows. What purpose did the Archangel serve among the ranks, he was leader of the Hellguard, a division dedicated to the protection from Hellish infiltration of protected areas, especially the borders of Heaven. They were not at all meant to march at the front lines of the Apocalypse as it wasn’t their duty.

Yet there they were, among the ranks fighting with just as much ferocity as the summoned legions. The gears in his brain churned at an incomprehensible rate as he tried to key together this mystery.

What purpose did they serve, and what secrets are they hiding?

Something greater was at play here. Abaddon, the Call beckoning him to do his duty, and no sense of his brothers and sister in the Earth.

All at once, the frustrations bubbled and broiled over within the Horseman. The memories that lay bare across his vision began to crumble and branch into webbing cracks as his own wrath, hot as frothing lava, rose in terrible tidal waves, fueling dead veins with his famously irremovable ire.

Then, akin to a weakened dam holding back a tsunami, the images of his mind, and the last of his reserves, explode in an extraordinary display.

Pulling his lips back to unleash terrible canines, War’s prosthetic arm clenched tight enough to nearly break the metal fingers. Eyelids snap open to reveal the blazing glow of glacial blue, near blinding as they’re fueled by his rage. He raises his fist above his head and, in one great swell of strength, swings it down with a terrible velocity as War unleashes an agonized bellow of betrayal.

The momentum of his arm stops short, colliding with the ground below, stone beneath shatters upon impact. Dust flies everywhere as the shockwave sends throughout.

War doesn’t need to see the ground to know he’s left a crater.

Though he doesn’t need air, War huffs as greatly as a rhinoceros. The fire within him surges through his body, showing no signs of slowing down soon. The rider can only stare hatefully at the cobblestone below as he tries to ride out this immeasurable wave.

For an immeasurable amount of time, the Nephilim stays motionless, sucking in deep lungfuls of dust laden air before forcefully exhaling. His right arm, the flesh one, shakes with tremors under his gauntlet, before the trembles slowly spread across his body.

The great injustice of it all enraged War greatly, he can’t help but reflect upon what the Council said to Fury of their elder brothers being absent. Strife had been sent out on a mission according to them, but Death’s case had his mind reeling.

The Eldest had done this before, in the distant past. Disappearing for five hundred years without a trace until finally showing his face in the wake of the Council’s urgent summons. He had disappeared, likely for his own sake of solitude after the Nephilim’s fall.

But what reason had he now to disappear? Where could Death go that not even the most sensitive ears or eyes could detect him on the furthest comer of Creation?

He wouldn’t abandon them. Not again… So caught up in the haze of his muddled thoughts, War doesn’t hear gentle footfalls coming up to his side. His hood, far over his head, obscures his peripheral vision and had he noticed, he’d be ashamed for letting an unknown person get so close.

But he doesn’t scold himself as he’s still caught in the fray. At least, that is until he hears a throat be cleared before asking him a question he’s never been directed to in his eons of existence.

“Hello there sir. Are you alright?”

——

The behemoth of a man doesn’t move when you call out. But you know he’s heard you if the tensing of his body is any indication. His face is obscured by the hulking copper pauldron and blood red hood pulled far over his head, blocking off any view of his features.

There’s a tremble to his figure, albeit faint, you can spot the quivers beneath his strange armor. You’d would’ve guessed him to be an Angel if it weren’t for the lack of wings and the doubt of seeing one so scared. Demon was far out of the question due to the obvious absence of a tail, malformed wings or the faint sulfur stink they possessed (a surprising fact to learn).

Was this stranger human? The question rattled in your head as you took in his huge figure, the apex of his shoulders were equal to yours at your full height. But the sheer size of him alone suggested Maker, but even this beast of a man would be minuscule compared to Engri.

But it didn’t matter who or what he was, but rather, the shaking that didn’t cease even as you both stood in silence. A pang of sympathy wells in your chest, remembering how you were just as frightened when you first arrived. Death throes, Engri had called them. The soul still yearns for life, and tries to command flesh that isn’t there anymore.

‘He could probably use a hand, after who knows what he went through.’ You shudder at the thought of the untold horrors that he must’ve endured at his death.

‘Friendly face…’ you remind yourself as you clear your throat and try again.

“Sir, are you alright?”

This time, you get a reaction. The man’s head whips around in record time, near startling you as you’re suddenly stared down by the mysterious newcomer.

Behind the copper pauldron and his hood, you spot two bright eyes staring you down, unlike anything you’ve ever seen. They’re pupilless, glowing like sulfur fire with just as much intensity. The twin flames stare you down like a wrathful lion roused from slumber, and you the mousy culprit.

You can’t help but find yourself lost in the void, sinking further into the crashing storm of anger and despair. It’s too powerful to pull away now, and you can’t gather the strength to as you spot something within him.

For just a moment, in the moment that time was creeping between the two of you, there was the slightest hint of fear swimming beneath the surface. As quick as you caught it, it was dashed away as those wild and raw eyes hardened. It was not unlike watching the surface of magma cool into solid rock, but beneath did the liquid fire still burn.

Caught up in the swirling hues of burning blue, you failed to catch the stranger’s face contort into something more offensive. If you did, you would’ve wisely backed away instead of gawk dumbly as lips pulled back to reveal glimmering teeth.

“What?” He snarls the question at you, the deepness of his breathy tone pulling you in like a magnet. You still don't give an answer, caught between the urge to swallow up your concern and run and to stay and comfort the man. If you could call him that.

Quicker than you’d expect a man his size to move, the stranger throws himself backwards. Adopting a protective stance, his left arm is poised to cover his body more effectively as he bares his teeth warningly. Simultaneously, you jolt back instinctively putting distance between you and him.

How ironic.

Dead as dust, and your mind is trying to keep alive as if you still possessed a beating heart and blood in your viscera. Even more so concerting, considering how you’d been so adamant on approaching him first.

Briefly, there’s a thought that comes into mind, asking if this was a wise idea. But what could one soul do to another when both are dead?

You doubt the dead can be killed again. With that logic you feel less insecure about an attack. So you gulp down your nerves and clear your throat.

“Everything‘s okay,” you begin, arms held up placatingly as the man eyes you warily, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Not that you could even land a single blow on your best day.

The man thinks the same, as his lips pull into a deeper scowl as his nose curls. Though he has no discernible pupil, you can feel him sizing you up. Definitely determining you to be as much of a threat to him as a fly is to a lion.

Seconds tick by like eons, neither one of you twitching a muscle as you stare each other down. One with barely restrained apprehension, the other suspicion and lingering animosity.

Until finally, the man curls his nose with a huff.

Completely unimpressed, he motions to leave you in the dust, metaphorically and literally as he spins on his heel and makes his way out of the tiny pocket of room off the road. The ground below shudders with a muffled tromp, displacing dust to flutter into the air and stray pebbles to rock.

If you’d a moment to think about his sheer impact on the ground, you probably wouldn’t have so brazenly charged forward to meet with him again. Hellbent on trying to understand what was his grand plan here.

Maybe you would’ve wisely backed off, especially when you were so hesitant to approach due to the very threat of bodily harm. Even beyond the grave. You’d definitely be reflecting on this tonight to find the answer to this crazy ass decision. But the only answer you’d receive after racking your brain to find is probably “whoopsie” or “I’m not fucking up my first day of Soul Guiding”.

Just as your hand is about to make contact with the man’s armored arm, there’s a great flash of gray as the world suddenly spins on its axis. Roughly, your back slams into the ground as the beanie hugging your head jostles loose, half handing to your skull. If you’d any breath it’d be knocked clean out, but all you do is gawk, breathless regardless.

In one swift motion you’d been slammed into the ground with the giant of a man hovering over you. Enormous legs cage you in as he keeps a grip so ironclad on your guilty arm you can legitimately feel the pressure near breaking. You fear he’d break your bones had you not been so caught up in staring him down, dead heart lurching in your throat.

Pinned, outsized and far in over your head, the only plausible thing your panic riddled mind can do is teeter on the precipice of two options. Gather the last remnants of human survival and urge you to break loose or relive the last moments of your life cornered in that concrete trap like you are now. The only difference you felt was no roaring of blood into your ears nor the stir of a certain pounding cardiac organ.

You swear in this very moment this man was really those hound monsters in disguise, ready for a part two in their revenge.

Get off.

You see those hungry eyes through the cracks. Blues bleed into fiery orange, the shadows eclipse into coal black leathery skin of hellish hounds.

Get off.

Pulled back lips contort into snarling maws like permanent grins. Bare gums glinting with teeth bigger than your arm. A heavy pant like laughter among the prowling pack that close in on their prey.

GET O F F !

The crushing grip melds into the pain of your arm —- your missing flesh arm —-

You can taste the blood, feel it running down your throat and flood your lungs—

G E T O F F !

The proximity between him and you is near atoms apart. You feel the wisps of breath he exhales, fluttering over your cheeks like ghosts in the wind. There is no heat, unlike the breath of the hounds who felt hotter than the pits of Hell. A complete antithesis-

“GET OFF ME!”

The shriek echoes across the empty field, rattling the naked limbs of a nearby tree and disturbing the dust to flutter around the air. Dancing between the two of you carelessly.

The man above you does not move as you demanded, instead he keeps his grip steady, the only indication of him listening to you are his raised brows and slightly widened eyes. Clearly surprised by the outburst. But he still doesn’t make a single move, instead vying to keep you pinned as his lips form words that your brain fails to comprehend. It’s only after a few seconds of silence after his words have passed his mouth did your brain catch it like a delayed echo.

“Who are you?! What is the meaning of this?” Though he nearly splits your ears with his bellow, the demand sounds as if you’re hearing him with cotton stuffed in your ears. And underwater.

When you don’t give an immediate answer, his patience seems to wear thin, given by the deepening furrow of his brow. Vaguely you think how it’s even physically possible before your ears pick up on a voice ring through the air.

“I-I just-!”

“It will do you good to let them go boy!”

Both you and the man’s head swivel to the origin of the newcomer. Poised for attack, the stranger is dressed in armored regalia, finely detailed with bone imagery long since worn down. He carries a glaive, or at least an imitation of the weapon due to its dramatic length of the blade. It’s pointed in your general direction, but not at you. But the head of the man above you.

He stares you down with well worn eyes, cataracts cloudy yet sharply focused on you.

The stranger doesn’t give away what he feels about the situation, but from the pinching of his brows and snarling of teeth, he doesn’t like what he sees.

The soldier jabs the weapon, the edge near kidding the red hood of the man above. He merely grunts at the proffer of the metal blade, unphased about this. Which was rather ironic given his need to attack weaponless you.

“I will not ask again! Let the ‘uman go.” He snarls, dripping with authority to make you rigid upon hearing. The man above you snaps his head between you and the newcomer, brows pinched together as you shoot him a weary grin, silently begging he’d listen.

“Yeah, uh, please let the human go…” you say weakly, struggling under his grip as you feel an atom more confident with this stranger. Though that is promptly squashed when the man glares daggers into you, sending a wave of cold dread shooting through your chest. The crushing grip tightening even more.

“I am not asking you again boy! ‘ave you no sense o�� ‘onor that you’d attack one without a weapon?!”

That gets his attention.

His ironclad hold violently wrenches free, and you immediately scramble out from underneath him. You drag yourself away from the man and put some distance between you and him, with the stranger as a barrier. Despite not knowing either, you’d take your chances with the soldier rather than the goliath.

The guard shuffles until he’s blocked the view of the red hooded behemoth, weapon poised at his head. He tilts his head back to eye you as he calls out. “You alright ‘uman?” Dazed, you can only offer an unsure grunt, grasping at the arm with fresh indents in the dead skin. You wince as you doubt there’s a chance it’ll recover.

“Y-yeah.” Is the feeble answer.

He grunts before turning his attention to your attacker, whose face is twisted into a vicious snarl half hidden by his hood. Those blue eyes are pure murderous as he glares at your savior. However, he is completely unaffected, instead vying to puff his chest out and raise his shoulders. Immediately, the man becomes larger than he already is, the armor assisting him as the oversized pauldrons that sweep towards the air flare out like boney wings.

The tension growing between the two is heavy, like a thick fog and tingling with electricity. Though you’re not caught in the middle of it, you can feel the sharp sting that leaves you dizzy.

Just when you’re sure the fog will stretch out to you and wrap you in the static blanket, it’s so abruptly interrupted.

“I do not know why you attack this ‘uman, but know that this will not go unnoticed by me. ‘owever that is not why I am ‘ere,” the man straightened his posture as he keeps his glaive pointed straight at the man, “I am ‘ere to escort you, Red Rider, to the King, for you are hereby summoned to appear ‘fore the Dead Court.”

That gets your attention.

Engri had spoken of the monarchy and his exclusivity on the few to no guests he harbors in his Court. In fact, practically no one has made company with the king in the last century other than his guards and royal advisors and overseers.

Not that making company was as simple as approaching the throne room and waltzing in to share your grievances. Between the tales of the men of the Arena who’s battle prowess could match that of the aged Maker and cynical advisors, you’d heard of one such obstacle to meet the king.

The Arena and its heralded unbeatable Champion.

Engri had shared the stories of the Champion, a creature of bone and sinew, nigh invincible. How she’d faced the beast before in boast, promising to bring the skull to the Court not for an audience, but to wipe the smirk off their smug faces when they claimed she’d be unsuccessful as the others. And they’d been right.

The monster was unpredictable in its attacks and twice as formidable in strength, even against a seasoned warrior as Engri. In the end, the battle mage decided it best to abandon her quest and turn tail to save herself the near severed limbs and a wounded ego during the excursion.

That was the only ticket to meet the king.

And this guy gets a free fucking pass.

A trickling sensation of horror and suspicion runs up your spine as you wearily eye the stranger. What had he done to warrant the king’s audience per his demand?

Probably something terrible. Right?

The “Red Rider” or he’s been addressed, near snarls at the soldier whilst rising to an impossible height. Your eyes shamelessly bulge from their sockets as your jaw fails to keep itself hinged while you wordlessly gawk.

You knew he was tall from how he nearly reached your shoulder on his knees, but not like this. He towers over the soldier who himself boasts an impressive height, and his glaive stands taller than his helmet which adds a few extra inches. You doubt your head even reaches the bottom of his sternum if you stood on your toes.

“What would your king,” he spits the word out like rot on his tongue, “want with me? I am no stranger to this realm nor am I a foe.”

The soldier doesn’t stop the scoff, making the taller shoot a nasty glare. “Do you think us so shut in from the world of the livin’ we do not know o’ your affairs?” The hooded man immediately stiffens, your head tilts as you questioningly stare at the accused wondering if-

“I've done nothing of the sort. I am not guilty of the crimes the Council accuses me of!” He bellows, voice so powerful you can feel it punch you in the chest. Though the other male seems completely unaffected, not even a flinch.

“Whatever those slags o’ molten rocks decide is none o’ my concern. I am ‘ere merely to escort you to the Court.” He cooly says.

Council? Crimes? Molten rocks?! What in fuck’s name are they talking about?!

Too caught up in the haze, you shake your head in efforts to clear the very muddled thoughts you’re trying to piece together. You don’t even register their conversation.

Yeah, the man straight up attacked you, but he hadn’t seemed to do so blindly. Though the whole parameters of why he’d think of you as a threat doesn’t click.

But beforehand, prior to his… lashing out, he seemed completely caught up in himself. The scream you’d heard, how the raw bellow was so pained, opposite to his aloof attitude. How he sounded so… betrayed?

Scared.

Like when you first opened your eyes on the cobblestone road.

A pang of sympathy worms its way through your chest, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste of the past. A frown stretches across your lips, remembering that wretched feeling.

Why should you not extend that mercy to him? Because of some self preservation to your corpse? A guard claiming he’s to be punished for a possible crime? Your survival instincts screamed not to, and logic dictated that this was none of your own business.

But the man’s protests of innocence were too heartfelt. Too… fervent.

Unlike the aged corpse of a soldier, you listen to those cries. You know them well. Distant wails that cut through the ears of the endlessly noisy city like a gunshot. Too many times you lie awake on your bed, listening helplessly to the sound.

You once burst out of your room with an urgent desperation to quell those cries. Tirelessly searching for the endless laments, overwhelmed to find the city overrun with souls that scream for a life stolen away, of being lost with this insufferably ceaseless city.

Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help anyone. It seemed as if the screams were not from souls, but part of the very ambience of the city.

You barely slept a week after that, regardless of your exhaustion.

This man, this soul- you can’t bear the thought of leaving him to his fate. It’s selfish but you don't want to bear another moment in the city after the day is done. Returning to that unshakable tune. Maybe this once, you could quell this one’s cries so he wouldn’t join that accursed choir.

Leaving him to go to the Court did not sit right in your gut. You couldn’t stop it, but maybe you could sway them.

Engri’s talk of the King did not soothe your nerves however. But in spite of that, you do not stop yourself from the words that spill out your mouth just as the soldier was about to escort the soul out.

“Uhm,” you scramble to your feet, something more dignified if it weren’t for the dust and beanie falling out of place, “wait right there! I’m coming along!”

The soldier snorts, actually snorts before he can cover his mouth with a hand. That near permanent grin of a half rotted skull seems to widen as he attempts to collect himself. You scarcely notice curious blue eyes drift your way as you pull your beanie back over your scalp, suddenly bashful.

“You ‘ave no business with the King,” he declares, tone trembling with barely held back chuckles, “it’s ‘im that the King wants, ‘uman. You’ve no idea of what magnitude the offense this one has committed.” The Red Rider shoots him a poisonous glare from behind.

“Well, I don’t happen to believe that!” You lamely retort, chest clenching at your weak protest that makes both men take pause. The soldier eyes you with suspicion while Red remains otherwise impassable, other than the slightest widening of his eyes behind his hood. You absently wonder if he is even affected by your protest. Something within your dead chest screams that it does, that he is in fact, thinking about what you’re doing, but your head seems to think otherwise, filled with doubt.

Your brain weighs the outcomes of both possibilities at blink-fast speed, considering both extremes that could come to haunt you. Either one, this man is indeed what the guard claims, to have committed the worst of crimes, hiding behind a red hood and devastatingly convincing face to trick the bleeding hearts into his scheming and letting him roam free. Though the worst possible crimes he can commit in this godforsaken realm such as murder was null and void, that didn’t make him less of a threat. You could let him walk free, unpunished and unforgiving into this world, here forever if you can even convince the Court.

Or…

This man is indeed innocent. A victim of circumstance, or even a setup if his protests have any hint of what had happened. You could save him from taking the fall and being wrongly punished for someone else’s crimes. You couldn’t imagine living, or rather, continuing on this dead life with that on your conscience for eternity. Not even after a million years could you imagine that the guilt would even erode in the slightest.

Then, you think about when you first laid eyes on him, how frightened he was, that scream, and those wild eyes that you almost drowned in. There was a deep powerlessness that you recognized that you couldn’t forget.

You’ve seen that look in the eyes of your fellow humans as they were slaughtered on the streets, hopelessly overpowered in the eyes of Angels and Demons. Pure, unadulterated terror soaking into the very bone, leaving no atom unmarred. Then, a ringing in your ear turns into his scream and it blends in with hundreds more you hear a familiar voice come through.

“‘M off tae take ‘em to tae city,” It’s Engri’s voice from hours ago, “I doubt there won’ be any other souls while ‘m gone,” you had decided to stay behind, using the excuse of wanting to help farry souls as a reason not to go back to that wailing city. You did want to help, but you never expected, well, this.

“Well, what should I do if someone comes and they won’t go with me?” You asked, unsure of what to expect, to which she had answered simply.

“Then follow ‘em wherever they go. With time, they’ll go with ye.”

Sucking in a breath, you hope this won’t be the biggest mistake of your undead life. Squaring your shoulders and straightening your spine, you boldly stare the guard in the back as you unsteadily declare,

“Take me with him to the King’s Court, I am acting as his voucher of character.”

Sometimes, the heart is bigger than the head.

#darksiders #war #reader #darksiders x reader #Darksiders war #gn reader #can you believe its been two years since I posted the first chapt #found this chapter saved in my google doc saved and found it accidentally when I looked for my criminal justice notes #it was COMPLETE TOO WTF LMAO

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thesilliestrovingalive · 4 months ago

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Updated: November 30, 2024

Reworked Character #2: Tarma Roving

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to underage drinking, crime, an unhealthy romance, death, and torture.

Real name: Tarmicle Ignacio Roving III

Alias: Mister Nice Buddy

Occupation: Captain of the P.F. Squad

Retirement plans: Open a motorcycle shop, develop reliable cybernetic prosthetics for hospital use, and start a family

Special skills: Proficiency in Slugs, heavy duty firearms, and resource management, robotic engineering, weaponsmithing, mechanics, and bivouacking

Hobbies: Customising motorcycles while listening to rock music, drawing detailed blueprints for weaponry and vehicles, collecting action figures and scale models of military machines, looking for cool bugs and rocks, and camping

Likes: Beautiful women and men, hugging people he cares about, solitary journeys on his motorcycle, spending time in the great outdoors, and the toy version of SV-001 that Marco gifted him on his 22nd birthday

Dislikes: Social isolation, his frequent nosebleeds, shallow and rude people (such as Gimlet), feeling powerless when preventing his friends from getting injured, and insults that feed into his insecurities about his academic intelligence

Favourite food: Rice prepared with fermented soybeans, mustard, boiled eggs, and scallions

Sexuality: Sex-favourable, straight-leaning bisexual

Gender: Male

Age: 17 (in 2022), 23 (in 2028), 25 (in 2030), 27 (in 2032), 29 (in 2034), 36 (in 2041), 38 (in 2043), 39 (in 2044), and 42 (in 2047)

Blood type: AB+

Weight: 227 lbs. (102 kg)

Design: He’s a 5’ 11” (180.34 cm) Japanese endomorph of American and Mexican descent with a partial beer belly, rigid muscles, broad shoulders, and sienna skin. He has sunburst green-hazel eyes and fingernails that are painted a dull gold. He has maroon hair with medium-length parted bangs, featuring two distinctive ahoge cowlicks in the centre, alongside sideburns, a neatly trimmed goatee, and subtle curls. Like Marco, he bears nasty battle scars: badly burned flesh from the right side of his neck to the left deltoid; multiple lacerations crisscrossing his back, forearms, and thighs; his left ring finger is partially severed; a couple of bullet wounds are visible just below his left lumbar region; and a scar snakes down from the right side of his forehead to the middle of his left cheek. He has a horizontal scar in the centre of his neck, a result of a sleepwalking incident involving Marco, who nearly slit his throat with a kitchen knife.

His right forearm was replaced by a cybernetic prosthetic, crafted from ultra-durable, lightweight metal plated and reinforced with tungsten nanotubes. Vein-like fibres of superconducting nanowire mesh enable seamless integration with his nervous system. The prosthetic features a retractable plasma cannon that fires two types of projectiles: yellowish-white ionised energy blasts that deliver intense electrical discharges; and metallic purple-green goo, a highly corrosive and acidic substance capable of burning through virtually any material. Beneath the plasma cannon, a nanotech-enhanced, razor-sharp blade retracts seamlessly into the cutting-edge prosthetic. Forged from a nearly indestructible alloy, the gilded blade is micro-serrated for optimal tissue and armour penetration.

His military gear consists of red-tinted sunglasses, a metal dog tag necklace with his name, a walnut brown T-shirt with ripped sleeves, a rusty orange fingerless glove on his left hand, and a burgundy leather belt with a snap-on gold buckle. He wears a saffron-yellow vest with four pockets, featuring an embroidered logo of the P.F. Squad on the back. He also wears citron army cargo pants tucked under burgundy paratrooper boots, a sheath for his combat knife, and a gun holster for a handgun he rarely uses. He once ripped the right knee of his cargo pants, but Fio mended it with a patch of butterscotch-hued fabric. The pockets of Tarma’s vest carry around an old cigarette box, a silver lighter, the key to his first customisable motorcycle, and a toy version of SV-001.

Over his T-shirt, he dons a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) with a MultiCam pattern, which carries around his walkie-talkie and ammo for other firearms. His forearms are wrapped in dirty gauze, and he wears two dark brown bandoliers: one drapes over his left shoulder, holding sticks of dynamite, while the other wraps above his belt, holding bullets for his handgun. Tarma carries around a citron load-bearing backpack that contains camping equipment, tactical explosives, portable ammo boxes, a canteen full of water, mechanic tools, a flame shot, two machine guns, an enemy chaser, and a laser gun. He has three piercings: a gilded septum as well as a silvery vertical curved barbell and a ring adorning his left eyebrow.

Tarma acquired a stolen katana called Murasame, renowned for its unique ability to self-cleanse its blackened steel blade, allowing it to remain razor-sharp. The katana features a distinctive wave-shaped hamon, a tangerine-hued handle wrapped in gilded cord, and a hexagonal silvery guard. The katana's crimson hardwood sheath features a golden straightened carp design, while the blade itself bears the Japanese inscription “血液洗浄” (Ketsueki Senjō), meaning "blood washing" in English, elegantly written on the right side.

His beloved motorcycle, built at just 15 years old, is a custom black and flame-coloured Harley-Davidson 42WLA. The bike's gas tank showcases a stunning design: an azure Japanese dragon wrapping around a bronze eagle with outstretched wings. He extensively modified his first motorcycle, integrating a missile-firing launcher between the handlebars and installing two 12.6mm calibre Vulcan cannons (similar to those found on the SV-001) towards the front. Additionally, he fitted a bulletproof carrier at the rear, coated in a durable silvery dark grey paint, which houses a shotgun and thirty corresponding shell holders.

Character summary: He often pokes fun at the overly serious Marco, much to his annoyance, yet still holds him in the highest esteem as a heroic soldier. Whenever he's away from Marco and can't contact him, he starts to worry about his safety. But when Marco returns safe and sound, he's instantly relieved and overjoyed to see that he's okay. The idea of Marco going missing or dying an untimely death would leave him feeling deeply melancholic, empty, and lonely. Tarma is fiercely loyal to Marco, willing to put his life on the line for him and offer comfort during his darkest moments. They share a remarkably harmonious relationship, rarely engaging in conflict or brotherly banter, as Marco is thoughtful of his emotional sensitivity.

As a flirtatious and affectionate individual, he frequently tries his luck with women and men who catch his eye, regardless of their faction affiliation. Although his advances often end in rejection, he doesn't let it discourage him and won't pursue them aggressively, viewing them as minor setbacks. Although his advances are rarely reciprocated, when they are, the encounters tend to be brief and sexually intimate, and he’s comfortable with that.

He has very strong romantic feelings for Fio, but struggles to express them. He enjoys spending time with her, sharing stories about his day and telling jokes. However, he occasionally comes across as a bit awkward in her presence. Once he and Fio enter into a romantic relationship, he exudes greater confidence in his feelings for her, leading to a deepening of their emotional connection and a profound level of intimacy and supportiveness. He adores it when Fio showers him with kisses, praise, and loving compliments, and he happily returns the affection. He sometimes gets into debates with Fio over what they should or shouldn’t do, but he always remains calm and tries to find a mutually beneficial solution that they can both agree on. He holds Marco dear as his queerplatonic partner, a bond that strengthens when Marco joins him and Fio in a polyamorous relationship. He feels at ease sharing his dorky side and vulnerable emotions with Fio and Marco, finding comfort and acceptance in their presence.

He genuinely cares about Eri and strives to treat her with kindness and respect. However, her tendency to socially withdraw from him, coupled with her constant belittling and physical confrontations, makes it challenging for him. Fortunately, Marco and Eri's team of Ptolemaic defectors frequently intervene to stop these confrontations. Due to Eri's animosity towards him, he harbours a deep-seated fear of her and tends to distance himself from her, particularly when she's intoxicated or near Fio. He wants to tell her that he ended their relationship years ago because she was using him as a distraction from her own problems and to fulfill her own self-centred needs, but he's hesitant to express his feelings, fearing it might escalate her hatred of him.

He's a loyal, clumsy, and fun-loving hothead with an adventurous spirit and a readiness to put up a good fight when necessary. He has a breezy and slightly sarcastic attitude, paired with a great imagination that shines when designing innovative weapons and vehicles. He has a clever talent for stirring up distractions and sparking moral self-reflection in those around him. He’s emotionally intelligent, going to great lengths to ensure the happiness of his friends, comrades, and loved ones. Tarma has a great sense of humour, often cracking jokes that span various comedy genres to diffuse tension in most situations, but it can become annoying at times. He has a hearty appetite, which becomes particularly evident after completing gruelling missions involving intense combat. Due to his strong sense of justice, he’s a vigilante at heart with protective instincts. If someone he loves is harmed, he will stop at nothing to ensure they receive the justice they deserve, showing no mercy to those responsible.

He has mild ADHD, which sometimes leads to spontaneous and curious thoughts and questions that he openly shares with those he trusts most. He feels deeply hurt and frustrated by Gimlet's mocking comments about his neurodiversity and physical differences, which escalate into intense confrontations. The mere mention of the Great Morden War triggers severe anxiety, culminating in violent panic attacks, vivid flashbacks, and haunting night terrors that disrupt his sleep. However, beneath his nonchalant and optimistic facade, he struggles with insecurities about his intelligence and mental slowness. Despite his enjoyment of being lively and a tad mischievous, he can't shake the feeling that he's a nuisance. Whenever he feels like he's about to cry, he quickly runs off to find a hiding place, fearing that others will mock him for his sensitivity. Tarma will only cry in front of others when he's feeling completely overwhelmed and people are aggressively yelling at him.

He's very patient, but sometimes his patience wears thin, and he snaps when he's feeling reasonably irritated. Although he isn't hesitant to assert himself respectfully when misunderstood, threatened or emotionally hurt, there are times when his approach comes across as rude and crass, leaving him feeling remorseful. He's incredibly passionate about vehicles, weaponry, and cybernetic prosthetics, often enthusiastically sharing his knowledge when asked. However, he's also fiercely protective of his interests and can take offence when someone criticises or disrespects them, particularly if they're models he's personally built or repaired.

He’s fiercely protective of his friends and comrades, willing to stand up to bullies and threats with a serious and intimidating demeanour. However, his strong sense of loyalty can sometimes lead to physical confrontations when pushed beyond his limits. He's generally humble and becomes slightly flustered when praised for his work and being a good friend, but occasionally exhibits overconfidence in his tactical abilities and creative projects. He can be quite reckless on the battlefield and during stealth-oriented missions, which occasionally puts his friends in potentially perilous situations, yet he always manages to keep them safe and unharmed. He strongly opposes racism, fat shaming, and the stigma surrounding mental health issues, viewing them as dehumanising obstacles to equity and healthy relationships.

He's surprisingly gentle and exceptionally kind to children, going to great lengths to rescue them from harm, ensure their emotional well-being, and provide companionship. When sleeping, he snores loudly and often talks in his sleep, uttering fragmented sentences during his most terrifying nightmares and pleasant dreams. He likes to drink with his friends after a long mission, but he often gets wasted and becomes silly, jovial, overly affectionate, and short-tempered.

He holds that morality is shaped by a combination of factors, including parental guidance, cultural influences, universal moral laws, and the capacity to establish ethical principles. He believes that everyone has inherent dignity that encourages them to follow ethical rules that are morally sound and logical. He thinks it's best to avoid contradictions and hypocritical behaviour by not following rules that are irrational and morally wrong. In his view, the morality of an action is determined by the action itself, rather than its consequences. Interestingly, despite being a soldier, he's a pacifist who believes that individuals can confront threats to peace in any way they deem necessary, even if it means compromising their personal morals. Furthermore, he sees life and death as fundamental opposites that are perpetually in conflict with each other.

Backstory: Tarmicle Ignacio Roving III was born on May 1, 2005 in Hokkaido, Japan. He was born into a large, diverse family. His father, Fabriclus Cristóbal Roving, is a distinguished Mexican-American military man. His mother, Koharu Nakabayashi, is a Japanese miniature painter and a retired army nurse who formerly served in the Regular Army. He has several siblings: Ildefonso, a firefighter and his older half-brother; Milagrosa, the lead singer of an alternative rock band and his older half-sister; twins Daisuke, a biochemist, and Ryōsuke, a medical engineer, who are his older brothers; and Calpurne, a fighter jet pilot who serves in the Regular Army and his younger sister. Fabriclus named him after his great-great-great-grandfather, Tarmicle Ignacio Roving Jr., to keep his legacy alive.

He often tells Tarma stories about the heroic actions of his namesake, who saved the lives of millions of innocent people from corrupt regimes and criminal exploitation. He also likes to tell Tarma stories about his experiences in the military, often mentioning a man named Alessandro Germi and describing the wars he had fought in. He taught his children to speak both Spanish and English and imparted valuable life lessons that they all embraced, including embracing failure and cultivating optimism. Tarma vaguely remembers Fabriclus sharing that he considered retiring after his first wife passed away from breast cancer complications. However, it wasn't until he met his second wife, Koharu, while she treated his injuries he sustained during a battle against high-risk criminals seeking to spark global anarchy, that he officially retired and started a new family with her.

He has a cousin named Achilles, who lives in Missouri, United States and owns a motorcycle shop. Achilles is notable for his habit of constantly combing his light orange pompadour and for sparking Tarma's strong passion for motorcycles. In contrast, his father fostered his interest in tanks, fighter planes, and the great outdoors, while Milagrosa ignited his love for rock music. He thoroughly enjoyed playing, exploring, and causing mischief with Calpurne, who matched his lively energy and vibrant imagination. However, their playtime wasn't without its challenges as she would occasionally take his toys without permission—though this rarely seemed to bother him.

At the age of 3, he met his childhood friend Tabomba when Tabomba's Filipino family moved in next door. Surprisingly, Tabomba sparked Tarma's interest in trains as well as cool bugs and rocks. Although they rarely see each other nowadays due to Tabomba's work as a marine biologist, they make an effort to meet up whenever they're both off work and on vacation.

His family frequently travelled across Japan, the United States, and Mexico, especially during summer and winter breaks, to visit relatives, enjoy the outdoors, and have fun. During a trip to Hiroshima at the age of 7, he met a girl named Chizuko, who was wearing an olive green bandanna. They quickly became friends after building a sand castle and finding worms under a large rock at a local park near the orphanage where Chizuko was staying. Sadly, they couldn't spend much time together because Tarma's family had planned to stay in Hiroshima for only two weeks and wanted to explore every attraction the city had to offer. Fortunately for the two, his family returned to Hiroshima a few times, once during a summer break and again to care for a sick relative.

At the playground and in elementary school, he faced bullying, responding in one of two ways: either he would remain oblivious to the taunts or burst into tears and rush to the safety of his parents or seek the teacher's intervention. He was bullied a lot at school because of his mental slowness, hyperactivity, and perceived "annoying" nature, and for not fitting traditional Japanese physical standards. Like him, Tabomba faced both racial and size-based discrimination, but found unwavering support in Tarma, who cherished their friendship. To combat Tabomba's isolation, Tarma would often keep him company, whether completing homework and assignments together or spending time together after school. Their favourite activities included playing video games, visiting the park, and watching action and comedy movies.

He had a couple of girlfriends and boyfriends in high school, but they didn't last very long. In high school, he started fighting back, engaging in fistfights and enduring street beatings as he struggled to cope with the constant bullying. He also began experimenting with building custom-made motorcycles as a way to initially impress those he was romantically interested in, and later found that it helped to calm his nerves.

Tragically, the bullying escalated to the point where Tarma felt overwhelmed and feared that reporting it to his teachers or parents would only create more problems and burden them further. So, he made the desperate decision to run away from home on his motorcycle, heading towards Hiroshima. Once there, he encountered Chizuko again, but she was different from the last time he met her. She was now the leader of a notorious street gang. Chizuko coaxed him into hanging out with her at their rundown hideout, where they drank beer and vodka stolen from a local alcohol shop. Tarma reluctantly agreed, but was thrilled to reunite with Chizuko after 8 years.

At the hideout, they caught up on each other's lives as Tarma had a couple of beers and Chizuko drank vodka from a bottle. Things took an unexpected turn when Chizuko got physically close to him, complimenting his appearance in a seductive manner. Their friendship evolved into a sexual relationship, which was Tarma's first. They spent many nights together, and he even participated in a few crimes with her, including theft and drug sales. Tarma would also start to develop a nicotine habit and, more positively, learn effective coping mechanisms and assertiveness skills to manage stress and stand up for himself.

However, their relationship was short-lived. Tarma ended things and returned home after discovering that Chizuko had been using him to fulfill her physical desires and distract herself from her trauma, while also advancing the interests of her gang. He would later reunite with Chizuko, now going by the name Eri, but she had become bitter, socially withdrawn, and aggressive, pushing him away.

After graduating from junior high school and enjoying the first week of his summer break, Tarma immediately enrolled in the Officers Academy of Special Tactics and Battle. In addition to his impressive engineering and mechanical skills, he achieved a notable feat at the age of 20 by rescuing President Marx, the CEO of a prominent defence contractor that supplies the Regular Army with weaponry, tanks, and other essential equipment. The Peregrine Falcons Squad took notice of this achievement and invited him to join the team, which he happily accepted.

Here, he met and befriended a lonely Marco after discussing their interests, reminiscing about their childhoods, and enjoying a couple of beers together. He would slowly develop a queerplatonic relationship with Marco, built on a deep appreciation for his company, a genuine desire to ensure his happiness and well-being, and a strong attraction to his physical beauty and intellect. He would also befriend Tequila, who imparted valuable mechanic skills to him and taught him specialised painting techniques for sheet metal, ensuring a durable finish that wouldn't chip, a lesson Tarma would always treasure. During the Great Morden War, he learned that Marco, alongside Tequila, was selected for the counteroffensive against Morden and quickly volunteered to join him, wanting to support his best friend.

During the Great Morden War, Tarma, Marco, and other members of the P.F. Squad, S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S., and Regular Army were ambushed by General Morden and his soldiers. They subjected everyone to rigorous torture, leaving them with lasting mental and physical scars. The Rebel soldiers and Allen O'Neil mercilessly taunted him, exploiting his sensitivity during the torture. Like Marco, Tarma was forced to witness the brutal slaughter and torture of his comrades and friends, which was emotionally painful to watch. However, he devised a clever escape plan by distracting the guards holding the key to his prison and appealing to their conscience. This unexpectedly worked, allowing him to overpower them, rescue Marco, and help his best friend thwart Morden's plans for world domination.

During his escape, Tarma received an unexpected gift from a Rebel soldier known as Guil, designed to aid him in future battles: the mysterious katana Murasame, renowned for its self-cleansing properties, which the Rebel Army had seized during their invasion of Japan. Touched by Guil's kindness, Tarma expressed his gratitude, and this brief encounter challenged his assumption that all Rebel Infantrymen were ruthless and loyal only to Morden's ideology. Rumours suggest that the cleansing properties of Murasame may be attributed to Martian experiments with the advanced technology of the Tuatha Dé Danann. However, Tarma remains skeptical and dismisses such claims as mere speculation.

After the end of the fearsome battle against General Morden and the Rebel Army, he rose through the ranks to become Captain of the P.F. Squad. He played a key role in the suppression of the second coup, getting a chance to fight alongside Fio and Eri. Notably, he saved Marco from a laser blast by the Hozmi that could have been fatal, earning himself a reputation as a hero and the true linchpin of the P.F. Squad.

During the conflict with the Arabian Infantry, Tarma bravely rescued a baby and several children who had been orphaned by Rebel soldiers. He subsequently facilitated their adoption, providing them with an opportunity for a safe and nurturing upbringing. He lost his right forearm during a fight against Allen O'Neil, which was later replaced with a cybernetic prosthetic that he designed and built with the help of Regular Army scientists and Pupipi.

Tarma's exceptional talent for building motorcycles, rivalling that of professionals, had led him to consider retirement. However, these plans have been put on hold due to the persistent and desperate pleas of his spineless superiors to continue his service in the military.

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wolven91 · 1 year ago

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Slugs & Apes - Chapter 2

The looming alien remained still, like a monolith.

The only thing that betrayed that he was even alive was the steadily expanding chest before it mesmerizingly shrunk back down. It was... alluring in a strange yet exotic way. No one Blarah knew could move in such a deliberate and measured manner. It was one thing to hear about the ‘solids’ and the bipeds, but to see one was… nothing could have prepared her.

The second proof that he wasn't simply made of metal or stone were his eyes. Colourful things unlike the deep solid black of Sluggat-kind. White and green, they flicked left and right as they attempted to focus intently on one of her eye stalks at a time.

Why couldn't it just do what a normal person should do in polite conversation and use both its eyes to look at both of her eyes! To stare so intently at one was.. was.. lewd and very forward.

The poor overwhelmed sluggat moistened her eyes with deliberate slowness, and began to speak in the brief respite from his overwhelming gaze. Her mantra repeated again and again; ‘She was not some easily seduced floozy’.

The lie was comforting and easy to comprehend, even if she was well aware of its flimsy nature.

"Of - of course I can help, where were you trying to get to?" The young slug said in as professional a tone as she could muster.

"I was greeted by a rather large representative, a blue hue to him? However he asked me to go to the waiting lounge as he was called away. It seems the freighter we piggybacked through the jump with to get here needed his attention..."

"That sounds like the dockmaster, I can contact him and see if he wants to meet you here or if we need to send you away?"

"Ah, thank you, I'd really appreciate that."

Blarah began to type in the old slugs contact number as she tried to release the tension in her body. His voice, the deep vibrations that he blasted through the air directly at her in the tiny quiet office had rolled over her without mercy.

A grunt came from the communication device.

"Ah, sir? The human got a bit turned around and is in the administration office, do you want to come up and get him or should he make his way to you?" Blarah asked carefully.

The old dockmaster; Blargh, was an old and rightly huge sluggat with the blues common to his home planet's race. Sluggats after all never stopped growing, albeit slowly, as they aged. Blargh was probably the oldest most would have encountered and had the mass to back it up, although he had never actually said how old he really was.

"Urgh, uh, no.. take him to the diplomatic room prepared for him. I'll update your clearance now.."

"Wait, no sir, im- I'm quite swamped right now, we need someone else to-.."

"There; it's done, be sure to be polite, you're his liaison until the Big Slime says otherwise. Once he clears you; come back and you can catch up, I'll pay you double time while you're away and until you're back on track. .." the line cut off without so much as a farewell or chance for her to voice her protest.

She wasn't opposed to helping the alien, she wasn't one of these nutjobs that had demanded that not only the humans be denied entry into the Community, but petitioned for their abandonment without a home due to them not technically being considered ‘sentient’ by outdated classifications.

She felt sorry for this new species that were so alone in their troubles in a cruel and dry universe.

But now, as she undulated with anxiety in the presence of one, they were, for lack of a better word, alarmingly, alien.

"Sorry if I'm causing you problems, but I really am grateful for your help." His face contorted, it seemed the only part of his flesh that was normal and alive, but even then; only parts moved and folded as she would expect. At the moment his mouth had stretched wide to the sides while the flesh around his eye holes crinkled up in what she tentatively labelled as 'happy'?

"It's alright, let's get to the lift." She said waving a wet tentacle. She stopped at the door to hit the lights, leaving the human briefly in the dark, just as the slappy, slick sounds of someone moving at speed came down the corridor.

Pleppany appeared in a rush and skidded to a stop in front of Blarah, out of breath and began to talk at the bemused sluggat.

"He wasn't on the freighter! He was on a transport that flew WITH the freighter, he landed over an hour ago!" She explained to Blarah, gesturing out the window and the massive ore freighter that was still inching its way into the dock on the other side of the window.

"He's loose and no one knows where he is! I'm going to miss my chance!" She groaned, practically losing all cohesion and puddling outwards on the floor.

"'Is she alright?" An earthquake-like voice rumbled not scant centimetres from Blarah's body.

Two opposite things happened at once that flew past the Human's notice.

Firstly, Pleppany did a fantastic impression of a human by coming to a complete frozen stand still, her eyes stalks shooting up and holding ramrod straight in shock.

Meanwhile, Blarah practically melted as the waves from his voice caused her skin to wiggle and roil. It took every scrap of her will power to prevent her eye stalks from becoming limp in the effects of his voice in such close proximity.

There was no denying it. He knew what he was doing, what he was doing to Blarah. Him and his hard skeleton and his.. his vocal sorcery!

She would have to address it sooner rather than later, but Pleppany, a credit to her craft, had re-coalesced and stood up again, rippling in the same manner as she did when she wanted the fast food slugs to get her extra portions or preferential treatment.

Pleppany had no shame as she oozed forwards and undulating, with practised ease, began to 'work' the Human as she had been trained to when seeking out a story.

"So! The mysterious humans finally made it to our humble corner, we're so glad you've made it; how was your trip?"

"It was alright, much quicker than our own transports."

"Oh yes, we're glad you're impressed with them, I suppose they're very confusing to you?" She continued, getting too close for comfort now as she tried to slosh herself between the human and Blarah. Pleppany continued without waiting for the Human to respond.

"I suppose you could do with a guide? I know all the best places on the station and both for socialising and getting some quiet time..."

The human’s face wrinkled again, but his mouth remained still, it was the flesh between his eyes that wiggled this time, as the two sets of dense whiskers that ran over his eye slots briefly came together or at least closer for a moment.

"Actually, I'm okay without. I have a guide for now thank you." He stated in a firmer tone than before. His own straight tentacle unfolded and extended past Pleppany's back before settling against Blarah's upper back, who had made a point not to be pushed away by the interloper, but now, with appendage touching her back, the harder, smaller tentacles pushed gently into her moist flesh to encourage her forward before relenting and folding back against his own side.

She got the message and surged forward, leaving the bewildered Pleppany in the snail trail.

Blarah had experienced several times in the past what Pleppany was probably only getting to live through for the first time now; rejection.

Maybe he wasn't as bad as she thought, although he was still a cad for flirting so aggressively.

With no further delays and in merciful silence they reached the transporter that would slide along the rails that crisscrossed the Station and deposit them as close as possible to their destination.

Her credentials were indeed now on par with the high class sluggats of the station which allowed her to select the diplomatic quarters near the top of the station, a far cry from her own quarters half way down and the middle of the Station's guts.

"So she was intense..." came a quiet rumble.

"That was Pleppany, a friend. She just thinks she needs to use her looks to get what she wants. Deep down she's actually quite insecure..." Blarah said, rippling in embarrassment and being honest in an attempt to defend her friend.

"I can understand that, I meant nothing by it..." the rumbling thunder said again. She had to keep taking deep breaths to remain steady and firm.

They stared out the window together as the transport rolled along towards their destination.

"My names Gregory by the way, or Greg for short..." Her mind was filled with rolling rain clouds over a parched savanna.

"Blarah, a pleasure to meet you." She demurely responded, a slight dip as she bobbed her entire body in respect.

A moment ticked by, followed by a second.

"This is why I'm here, you know..."

They stared out into deep space in silence together.

The rolling darkness that was the edge of space wasn't as black as one would think. It was the edge of the bubble that made reality. It was still expanding at a significant rate, but whether it be sluggat or human, the eye didn't know how to process the lack of existence that it was comprehending.

The result?

A chaotic swirl of colours and impossible geometry. Truly and utterly breathtaking. The first pioneer sluggats that made it this far had apparently nearly starved due to their desire to sit and watch the unending show of the universe growing.

"It is beautiful..." She murmured, whispering it as fact that couldn't be denied.

"Yeah, I'm very lucky to be here right now..."

The silence was pregnant and long.

The ding surprised Blarah and caused her to ripple. Sliding and stepping off the lift in turn, placed them in front of his quarters, the only ones in use in the diplomatic quarter. As he approached, the doors opened into a plush and well furnished home.

It was not of sluggat design and it was just as strange as he, yet he strolled in as if it was his own home.

"Don't stay outside, come in and make yourself at home!" He called from inside.

Blarah's eyes bulged. Not just welcoming her, a stranger, into his home, but to demand she treat it as her home? He WAS courting her! To provide a shelter for one's partner, so they could begin the ancient dance in privacy?!

She wouldn't be taken by surprise.

She wouldn't be seduced.

She would give a polite rebuttal and excuse herself from his presence.

Whilst this, the most dramatic dilemma she had ever encountered, played out in front of Blarah, she wouldn't have thought about the possibility that at the edge of the system; a sinister ship with a sinister goal could have slivered into the shadow of the planet like an eel; where it remained, coiled and waiting to strike.

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #scifi #humans are space orcs #sluggat

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jurassicjoowan · 7 months ago

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What if there was a Tyrannosaurus rex (T. rex) in Metal Slug?

I imagine it'd be a lot of running and screaming for the rebels, and really big bite marks on the tanks.

#dinosaur #tyrannosaurus #tyrannosaurus rex #metal slug #doodles #sketches

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delsshitposts · 6 months ago

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TIME FOR A BIAS NINTENDO DIRECT RUNDOWN! (Buckle up! This is a long post!)

God I wish I still got money on my birthday T-T

So how many speedrunners are going to dominate the leaderboards?

Instead of Tomodachi Life, Nintendo Switch Sports presents Ball Is Life

Another game to the "This Looks Kinda Neat" list

Looney Tunes also presents Ball Is Life!

Someone better tell the demon dogs

Why is the release schedule 3 then 1 and 2? Yeah, it doesn't affect anything but it fucks with me

Nintendo says "Play More Luigi's Mansion"! And I agree

I didn't know I wanted Metal Slug tower defense, BUT I DO!

Well my cousin is going to be happy

I can literally hear Maximillian DOOD freaking out

Time to test how many friends I can lose in one gaming session

I'm a Zelda simp so I'm going buy this on principle, but can we please call Zelda's weapon the "Tri Scepter" instead of "Tri Rod"

Capcom says "Play More Ace Attorney"! And I agree

The game looks nice, but the logo needs to be workshopped a bit more for readibility

"See! Metroid Prime 4 stills exists! We didn't cancel it!"

#nintendo #nintendo direct #mario bros #metroid #the legend of zelda #so many games that i am too broke to get on release

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archoneddzs15 · 8 days ago

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Sega Saturn - Metal Slug

Title: Metal Slug / メタルスラッグ

Developer/Publisher: SNK

Release date: 4 April 1997

Catalogue No.: T-3111G

Genre: Action Shooting

The granddaddy of platform shooters graces the Saturn in style. Metal Slug on the Saturn is every bit as good as the original Neo Geo version. Making use of the Saturn's 1Mbit (and 4Mbit) RAM cartridge Metal Slug manages to pull off all that detailed animation and action with only a little bit of slowdown at times which doesn't really bother you at all anyway.

There's a total of 6 missions all being varied enough not to bore you. The action is nonstop yet not so frantic that you'll lose track of what's happening. One thing I really do enjoy about Metal Slug is all those tinny little extra animation bits that SNK had thrown in. Look closely and you'll see all manner of crazy stuff!!

The Saturn version of Metal Slug is not only a wonderful conversion but is also full of extras such as the art gallery and Combat School mode which has you performing certain tasks. All in all, a wonderful game that actually deserves the high price tag it commands these days. This version I have is the CD-only version without the RAM cartridge since I already own about 5 of them. The best thing about the CD-only versions is that they actually have back covers and spine cards.

youtube

#sega saturn #neo geo #metal slug #Youtube

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monstersdownthepath · 2 years ago

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Monster Spotlight: Delver

CR 9

Neutral Huge Aberration

Misfit Monsters Redeemed, pg. 10~15

These gigantic, savage slugs were one of many alien beasts engineered by the Xiomorn to aid in their shaping of Golarion’s subterranean world. Like most of the creations abandoned by the Xiomorn, the Delvers have spread all throughout the Darklands of Golarion, tunneling in patterns that appear random to onlookers but are actually guided by ancient instinct, so deeply ingrained into their DNA that the Delvers themselves are only vaguely aware they’re working towards anything. They’re unaware of why they dig, only that it is the will of their masters. Over time, what was once programming has become a divine mandate in their minds, a form of faith that drives them to continue despite their masters not communicating with them for tens of thousands of years.

Yes, these gigantic slugs have a religion. Not an organized one, mind--they’re mercifully solitary--but a religion nonetheless, and one they follow devoutly. Their faith commands them to ceaselessly dig, connecting the entirety of the underground together in one unbroken network of smooth stone tunnels. It... takes a while, their sluglike appearance giving a hint of the pace they work at. Delvers tunnel at a rate of 10ft a round, but they can tunnel through solid rock without breaking their stride, whereas most creatures with a burrow speed are restricted to loose soil or sand. This isn’t sheer muscle pushing through, nor is it the use of their formidable-looking teeth (which are actually just for show), but a coating of acrid acid over their bodies that practically evaporates rock it touches, melting it into a slurry that quickly dries away to leave their trademark perfectly smooth tunnels.

I say ‘evaporates’ with little exaggeration. A Delver’s Corrosive Slime deals 8d10 Acid damage to stone and crystal (and creatures made from such substances) per round of contact. The slime isn’t kind to any other substance it encounters, dealing 4d6 damage to metal and 2d6 damage to flesh, bone, and plant matter. This damage is dealt to everything making contact with the Delver, including weapons or unarmed attacks being used to strike it, and any creature stupid enough to try grappling also takes this damage. Even escaping the slug’s space isn’t a guarantee of safety as the acid lingers for 2 additional rounds, though thankfully it deals only 2d6 damage per round in that time. This clinging acid is the primary danger of its natural attacks, a pair of slams that deal 2d6+9 damage each, plus the initial burst of damage from their Corrosive Slime AND the lingering damage afterwards.

Thus, a flesh creature being struck by a Delver’s Full-Attack takes 4d6+18 + 4d6 Acid damage, and takes 2d6 Acid damage for 2 additional rounds after. Additional slime doesn’t cause the damage or duration to stack, but it DOES reset the duration. Even a small amount of water can wash the slime off, but don’t try that on the Delver itself; it actually needs water to maintain its coat of slime, so you’re not so much washing off its layer of ooze as refreshing it. Also, to answer a potential question: Yes, as written, if the Delver makes both its natural attacks against an item or creature made of stone, that means the target takes 16d10 Acid damage on top of the slam damage. Is it any wonder why dwellers of the Darklands will sometimes seek these creatures out to try and secure their aid?

It may come as a surprise for players to find out that a Delver is not only intelligent, but can speak several languages. Their terrifying, gaping mouth is useless as a weapon (and as an actual mouth, as they actually absorb food through pores in their skin), but their flexible teeth and complex throat let them speak perfectly intelligible Undercommon, Terran, and Aklo. They’re also all typically Neutral, not going out of their way to attack any creature they see but also brooking no interruptions in their digging or alterations to their work. They attack only until the other party backs off and rarely ever give chase unless they’re particularly peckish; they can survive just fine by sieving trace metals, minerals, and microorganisms from the soil and stone they slither through and rarely consider worked metals as anything worth eating, ironically seeing the substances inferior to unworked veins pulled from the stone.

That won’t cause them to turn their nose up to it if offered, though, especially if they’re starving... and especially since metal has an interesting effect on their psyche. Delvers experience dramatic, immediate, and powerful psychoactive effects upon consuming even small amounts of metal, and are convinced (perhaps rightly so) that this is opening their minds to the ineffable will of their distant masters. Delvers go out of their way to blast their consciousness to Kingdom Come by devouring as much metal as they can, with iron having the most intense impact on their psyche, doing their alien equivalent of a line before they head out for a day of tunneling.

While a Delver that’s sober is usually safe to approach, provided you keep your distance and understand it may lash out to drive you off, a Delver that’s smashed on metals is almost always homicidally territorial and madly convinced of its invincibility, attacking and killing anything that interrupts its tunneling with reckless abandon. As there’s no obvious and foolproof way to tell a sober Delver from one “in the embrace of the Masters” (as they put it) it’s perhaps better for a party to just find some other burrowing creature to do whatever it is they need.

You can read more about them here.

#Monster Spotlight #CR 6 to 10 #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

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grantgfan · 3 months ago

Note

Hey, (Hoenn) Ash. I just realized that when I told you about you, May and Max being T-1002 Terminators in Ben 10 Intergalactic Adventures, I forgot to mention something… That being that you three would have advancements similar to the previous model; the T-1001, where’d you’d have the ability to shape-shift into a liquid metal blob in a slug-like shape and propel yourself through water like a torpedo.

Ash: oh i see

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msn-04iinightingale · 6 months ago

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KINSHIP-4 Pt.2 Sound of Thunder

Kinship FOB

The Barghest Company ‘mechs pushed forward in a v formation. Along the side streets and pathways, anti-mech mines had been laid by the retreating CFRI and Silver Wing forces. It only left one clear path into Kinship, and that was now through the advancing Barghest Company ‘mechs and the Silver Wing ‘mechs following them.

The wind whipped snow around the hulking form of Roberta’s superheavy T-Rex battlemech, but didn’t obscure her view of the suburbs and the approaching Word ‘mechs. She was in the lead, her ‘mech half again as tall as an Atlas and twice the weight, she was not by any measure, fast.

But fast didn’t matter when you just kept going. And that was one of two things Roberta was really good at. The other was destroying anything that tried to get in her way. With twin RAC-10’s, ER Large and Medium Lasers, and an Ultra AC-20, Laser AMS, THB Angel ECM Suite, HarJel Repair Systems, and over 35 tons of armor, her “Big Girl Teeth” were amply equipped to do both the former and latter.

She counted 14 enemy battlemechs, against Barghest Company’s 10 and Silver Wing’s 7. She grunted, a reasonably fair fight. She cycled targets, looking for a suitable, worthy opponent.

There.

“Target Acquired, Omega” chimed her battlemech’s computer, affectionately dubbed “Betty” by the spheroids.

Roberta toggled comms to her neighboring unit mates. “This is Major Roberta, I have marked target Omega-1.”

The other Barghest Company ‘mechs committed to this fight sounded off similarly, calling initial targets.

“Targets called, Commander, permission to open fire?” Bell chimes in.

“Permission granted, all units, fire at will, repeat, fire at will.”

There is the whip crack discharge of Gauss Rifles and the streams of fire and smoke of LRM’s being fired from those ‘mechs that possess them. Hits and impacts are registered across targets, blue readouts shifting to green then yellow as armor is damaged. Roberta smiled to see most shots landed rather than missed.

The Word battlemechs return fire, PPCs and Gauss slugs whipping past or smashing into the advancing wall of metal and myomer that were the heaviest Barghest ‘mechs at the front of the wedge. Two more volleys of long range fire blast out from and at the Barghest Company ‘mechs and the oncoming Word machines, before the ‘mechs enter general weapons range. Then the real fireworks started, lasers and AC rounds crisscrossing missile contrails and PPC arcs in the maelstrom of urban ‘mech combat.

Then word came back to them. The drone was dead. All it had cost them was another brave pilot. One of their pilots.

The Barghest Company ‘mechs fell upon the Word ‘mechs like rabid dogs. They had lost three of their own, and their blood burned for vengeance. They would take that vengeance in ruined ‘mechs and dead enemies.

Roberta grunts as a trio of Gauss slugs slam into her armor. She had plenty to go before it became a problem. The Omega she was bearing down on had decided to try and fight rather than run. A bold move. A stupid move. She would never go so far as to say these Blakists had honor, but they did have guts. At least sometimes. She was pretty sure she had seen a Preta turn tail and sprint straight into the minefield when it caught sight of her.

Would not be the first time…at least this time I am in my battlemech.

Another trio of slugs slammed into her armor, this time in the right side torso and right arm. She replied with her ER Large Lasers, twin beams reaching out to slice into the Omega’s armor.

“You will have to try better than that savashri!” She laughs over the comms, goading the other pilot. “Come, let us settle this as warriors!”

A beep from her targeting computer indicates that the enemy ‘mech is within optimal range. She toggled both RAC10’s to the same weapon group, glancing at the ammo count as she did. 110 rounds. More than enough. There was no real “aiming” a RAC10 on full auto, so she centered the crosshair on the smaller machine.

“This is for Major Vance Strider, Major Maria Chaser, and Lt. Elenor Von Strauss!” She snarled, baring her teeth as she pulls the trigger.

The twin Rotary Auto Cannons sprang to life with an apocalyptic roar, the six barrels of each weapon spinning in their housings as shells thundered out with window shattering force. The wireframe of the Omega before her began to flash and pulse with changing colors as the explosive shells pummeled the ‘mech. Armor was sent flying. Roberta ignored the spiking heat of her cockpit, and the now panicked return fire from the Omega, just as she ignored the shaking of her cockpit and the pounding noise of the cannons. She leaned her ‘mech into the recoil, pushing forward, closing the distance so that more shells hit the same place. All that mattered was keeping the enemy in her crosshairs. Green went to Yellow, then to Orange and Red on the target, armor being torn and ripped away. The ammo count drops quickly.

“Warning, Heat Critical” Betty chimed. Roberta grunts, and lets off the triggers of the RAC10’s before her ‘mech is forced to shutdown. The Omega infront of her had been savaged, her sensors telling her that the armor from the front had been almost completely blasted away, most of its weapons crippled or damaged. Indeed, one of the Gauss rifles explodes dramatically at that moment. The ‘mech still was operational, however, and still had guns, as it fired its remaining LBX back at her, trying to back away and present some more well armored portions of itself towards her. Roberta growls in annoyance, and mild respect. Before she can re-engage, her own wireframe flashes as she takes fire from the left side. With a snarl she toggles the new target, an Archangel, Infernus pattern. The enemy ‘mech fires its PPCs into her left side armor once again, causing a dull throb of pain in the corresponding side. It was easy to ignore.

“Stravag! Very well, I will take both of you on!” she snarled, pivoting and firing her ER Medium Lasers at the Assault ‘mech, scoring armor. She checked her heat gauge, pleased to see it was within acceptable levels. She toggled back the RAC-10’s, and opened fire on her new target with the sound of thunder.

—

Lt. Delila watched through the targeting lens of her Nightstar at the ongoing fight happening in front of her. Ann, Pam, Clara, John and the new guy, Nero were trading fire with the other Omega, and two Seraphs in the streets in front of her.

She was waiting for “The Shot”. That’s what she called the one, perfect moment where a sniper has their kill shot. It’s what her dad had called it at any rate, when he was sober. That one moment, when everything lines up, and you have your opening.

It wasn’t always easy, or very “glorious” as some of her comrades hailing from the clans would say, but she knew how effective it could be.

Ann and Pam were dueling the Omega, circling each other as they traded gauss and autocannon fire across their heavy armor. At the same time, Clara, John and Nero were taking on the two Seraphs. She decided that the Omega was the one to take out, and no, not just because her girlfriend was in the process of sandblasting the motherfucker with her autocannons and SRMs. If the Omega was downed, that would free up both Ann, Pam and herself to help with the two Seraphs, and other ‘mechs as needed.

Delila watched, eyes sharp, finger on the trigger of her gauss rifles. Her two allies were coming around again, counterclockwise, blocking her line of sight of the Omega’s juicy bits. There, that niggle at the back of her head, close to the base of her skull.

She brings her ‘mech to a halt, and brings her guns up. She steadies her breathing.

In. Out.

Pam and Ann move to the side.

In. Out.

The Omega slews into view, firing LB-X canister shot into her friends’ ‘mechs.

In. Out.

The Omega angles itself ever so slightly, to bring its gauss rifles to bear, slowing, slightly, to line up the shot.

In. Out.

The crosshair slides over to the Omega’s cockpit. Only armored glass between the enemy pilot and two gauss slugs.

The Shot.

Delila pulls the trigger.

The twin Gauss Slugs punch through the armored canopy glass of the superheavy, removing the pilot from the present tense and into the past in less time than it takes to blink. The Omega stumbles, as if in shock, before it slumps forward, the ‘mech falling to the ground with a clatter of slack metal limbs.

“Woohoo! Way to go D!” Pam cheered over the comms.

“Good shot, Delila!” Ann adds.

“You know me, I aim to please.” Delila says, smirking at her own joke.

“Oh my god…” Pam groans. “Come on, let’s go help the others.”

“Aff!” Ann adds.

The three Assault ‘mechs turn and move to assist their comrades, of which Clara is grappling with one Seraph and hacking at it with her hatchet, the other trying to take out either John’s Warhammer or Nero’s Warwolf, but the two are coordinating well to keep it busy and unfocused, John using his eidetic memory to call targets to the other pilot, allowing both to focus on disarming the heavier ‘mech. To his credit, Nero is a competent pilot, ducking in and out of cover to land gauss rifle shots where John calls them.

The three additional assault ‘mechs made short work of the two enemy battlemechs, not that there was much left of Clara’s opponent by the time they got there. The Solaris VII champion had cleaved both arms from the ‘mech, mind, the left arm of her own ‘mech had been badly damaged as well. It’s not immediately clear if it was due to the enemy or that she was using it as a club to batter the other ‘mech in tandem with the punishing chops of her hatchet. It is one such blow that kills the ‘mech, crumpling center torso and crushing reactor with a dull krumping bang. The ruined ‘mech tips over backwards, smashing into a small building and lying still.

“Yay!” Clara cheers over the comms, her ‘mech doing a little happy dance, which is rather strange, given it’s a 100 ton Berserker.

The concentrated gauss, pulse laser, PPC, and LBX autocannon rounds from Ann, Pam and Delila tore the remaining Seraph into pieces, with John’s Warhammer and Nero’s Warwolf adding to the storm of fire as well.

“Whew, got ‘em. Nice work ladies…oh and John.” Nero says, with a nearly audible smile. “This is Captain Bastian, three enemy ‘mechs down, moving to assist further elements.”

“Understood Captain, good work.” Owen replies, calm as ever. According to the tac-map, Owen’s designation is headed towards three enemy mechs on his own.

“Hey, your boss gonna need any help or…” he asks his new lance mates.

“Nah, the boss has got this.” Delila replies.

“...sure hope so.” Nero says in response, turning his ‘mech to fall in with the others of Barghest Company.

—

“Why do you not just die, stravag!?” Bridget shouted at the Seraph she and Bell were engaging. It was proving to be stubbornly resistant to dying. She punched her jumpjets, liftiong her Shrike out of the way of the twin Ultra AC10 shots the mech fired her way. She retaliated, twin Ultra AC5’s raking the enemy ‘mech’s left arm.

The enemy pilot was frustratingly good. She hated to admit it, and never would to anyone out loud, especially not Bell.

Bell pivoted her Mad Cat Mk II out of cover and fired off twin Gauss Slugs into the Seraph’s side, which pivoted and launched a volley of Streak SRM’s at her, she ducked back into cover, only taking a few hits before the rest demolished the facing of the building she ducked behind.

“Major, when it turns to bring its PPC and Ultra AC10 on me, I want you to take it from above.” Bell says calmly to Bridget.

Bridget huffed a bit. “Aff Colonel.” At least Bell was a capable commander, despite their mutual dislike of one another. Her mech landed, and she prepared herself to jump again.

Bell ducked back out, firing medium lasers and gauss rifles at the Seraph, baiting it, goading the pilot to commit.

The pilot, for all their skill, fell for the basic trap of target priority, and turned to engage Bell fully.

“Now, Major!”

“Aff!” Bridget punched her jump jets bringing her up, up and over the Seraph. She pivoted her mech gracefulling in the air, aiming all weapons downward.

Perfectly executed. As all things should be.

“Die with honor!” She yelled, toggling all guns to fire. Ultra AC5 rounds, ER Large Lasers, and Clan LRMs stabbed down directly into the enemy ‘mech’s cockpit. She landed facing the enemy mech, having turned in mid air, just in time to see it topple over, as dead as its pilot.

Bridget allowed herself a satisfied smirk at the perfection of the maneuver. It almost made up for not facing this enemy in single combat. Almost.

“Good work, Major, now we need to support…” Bell trailed off, her breath catching as she saw her Commander engaging three enemy ‘mechs at once.

Seeing him in action always did that to her.

—

Owen pushed Katie forward in long, loping strides through the city streets, curing up snow and asphalt with her powerful legs. He felt the thrum of her reactor, heard the thud of her clawed feet below, saw the fine tuned sensors reaching out and the readiness of her guns. He inhaled the scent of her cockpit.

God it felt good to be with her again out in the field.

He was skilled with just about any mech he was at the controls of. A couple centuries of your own personal Gunslinger program did that to a man, after all. But Katie…Katie was His ‘Mech. Every pilot worth a damn had Their ‘Mech, the one that did better, for some reason or another. The controls were slightly more responsive. The myomer a little more elastic. The seat more comfortable. For whatever reason, it just, fit, like hand in glove. You were at home in the cockpit. It was your’s. And Katie was His ‘Mech.

The Omni Marauder ran, closing with the three enemy mechs. He toggled through the targets; Deva, Grigori, Archangel. He selected the Grigori first, for no other reason than it was closest. Already the three mechs were taking shots at him, confident shots. They outnumbered him three to one, and outweighed his mech by at least that much. What he was doing was suicide.

They didn’t know they were already dead.

He juked Katie left and right, dodging shots and ducking behind buildings just long enough to let missile volleys detonate against them instead. He checked his weapons on second nature. HAG 30, Twin ER PPCs and Twin ER Medium Lasers, all live and ready.

Katie slewed into a street, looking directly down at the Grigori. The enemy mech started to bring its MLM and Streak SRM to bear on the target. Twin ER PPC shots took out the cockpit cleanly before they could center the targeting reticule on Owen.

“Target Destroyed” Katie chimed.

He was already moving, HAG 30 pivoting to track the Deva now. The second here was a gap between the buildings between him and it, he fired. The volley of nickel slugs tore the other machine’s cockpit apart the second it turned to engage him. He didn’t see it fall. He had another target to kill.

“Target Destroyed” Katie chimed.

The Archangel put up more fight, throwing Heavy PPC and Plasma Rifle slugs at him as fast as it could handle the heat. Owen side stepped them, sometimes by just enough to let the heat kiss Katie’s armor. The pilot was panicking, he could tell by the frantic nature of their shots, shooting for where he was rather than where he would be. They triggered their jump jets in an effort to gain some distance and hopefully safety. He triggered his own, the lighter mech gaining altitude faster than the Assault mech. He aimed Katie’s weapon pods, and fired. Twin ER PPC bolts blasted the enemy mech’s cockpit apart midair. The Archangel landed badly, crashing into a building and demolishing it. Owen landed Katie with practiced ease.

“Target Destroyed” Katie chimes.

“That’s my girl.” Owen says, patting the computer console in front of him affectionately. “...now, let’s go see how the rest of them are doing.”

He turned, going back to the fighting and his people. His men and women.

#battletech #mechwarrior #story event #operation touchdown #oc rp

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silverwings22 · 7 months ago

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Song of the Sea: Chapter 14: Singing Slug

Chapter Warnings: major injury, brief description of medical procedure, kidnapping, profanity, flashbacks to derogatory sexual language Series warning: explicit smut, alien anatomy (it's a monsterfucker fic, guys), major character injury, grief, canon typical violence, autistic meltdowns, and my terrible attempts at Mando'a.

Previous Chapter:

Next chapter:

"Shiani? Shiani?!"

Tech's voice was sharp as the siren opened her eyes, every inch of her already bruised body screaming in protest. She was laying face down on a pile of scrap metal, blinking and dazed. She didn't remember the landing or blacking out, only the terrifying fall through the darkness and her limbs being wrenched from around Tech in the shuffle. "T-tech?"

The metal beside her shifted and Tech was clambering on top of the pile to get to her in an instant. "Cyar'ika, are you alright?"

"I’m okay…" She wobbled when she sat up and he crouched beside her. "Where is everyone?"

"Omega and Hunter fell on the starboard side nearest the Marauder. They've checked in over comm." He smoothed a hand over her head gently. "Echo, Wrecker, and I were saved from serious injury by our armor."

Shiani didn't wear armor. When he didn't see her immediately after coming to, his first thought was a vision of her laying somewhere impaled on rebar or broken scrap. He'd been terrified. When they got out of here, he was building her some goddamn protection.

Shiani nodded, rubbing her head. "We hurry then… got to get out of here before Crosshair finds us."

He nodded. "You are right. He will be furious… he was injured in the engine blast."

Despite the fact he'd tried to kill them, Shiani clucked her tongue sympathetically. "Not himself. I’ll say sorry when he is."

"That is kind of you." Tech was feeling less than charitable about the sniper at the moment, and helped her to her feet instead of voicing his opinion. They hurried back to Wrecker and Echo, who both looked relieved to see the siren in one piece. Together, they moved around the husk of the Venator towards their own ship. Imperial troops were moving in, trying to set up a perimeter but being relatively quiet about it. Tech still had access to their comm channels and guided them through, almost home free when the crack of a shot rang out.

Shiani frowned, ear fins wiggling. "That didn’t sound right. Not a blaster."

Tech stiffened. "Then the only alternative is a slugthrower."

"Hunter's in trouble." Echo grabbed his own blaster and took off running.

The others followed suit, getting to the Marauder just as the Empire did. Hunter was laid on his back, not moving, and Shiani could taste the blood in the air before she saw the puddle of red growing under him. She skidded to the downed sergeant as the clones started firing at the Imperial troopers to cover her. "Hunter? Hunter?!"

He groaned weakly. "O-omega… he took her…"

"Shh." She slid her arms under his and started dragging him back towards their ship. "We’ll get her back. Don’t fall sleep." Her eyes darted up as she cleared the ramp and moved him to the medbay. "He’s been shot in the chest!"

"Shit." Echo hissed as Tech slid into the pilot's seat and they got off the ground. "I'll get the med kit-"

"No bacta." Shiani fumbled with the fasteners of the sergeant's armor. "Not yet. Go help Tech. Imperial fighters will come after us, and you’re the corporal. I’ve got Hunter."

Echo nodded, hurrying to assume command when she gave him a hard glance. "Wrecker, tailgun!"

Hunter looked bleary-eyed at Shiani as she dumped his helmet and chest plate on the floor. She pinned his arms and legs with her tentacles and leaned over, cupping her hands around her mouth and holding them over the bleeding wound in his chest. "Wh-what are you-"

"Singing." She muttered, then dropped her voice and hit a note he felt in his bones, blood, and between his eyes. His head dropped back on the table, chest screaming protests before a metallic tink echoed in the tiny med bay.

“What the fuck….?” He wheezed.

Shiani slipped an arm under his shoulders and sat him up. “Sorry, I gotta see you naked but it's for medical. Here, hold my tentacle. Squeeze if it hurts.”

Hunter just blinked at her as she pulled his blacks top off and finally grabbed the bacta, spraying him down and letting him squeeze as tightly as he wanted at the sting. Once he was doused, she wound gauze around him carefully and put him down gently on his back, shifting her approach from bossy to comforting for him. “You’re okay now. Just need to rest.”

“We have to find Omega…” He muttered faintly. “She’s just a kid… who knows who that bounty hunter is working for? Or what they want…”

“I promise, we’ll get Baby Mega back.” The siren breathed, watching the tattooed man resist rest like it was a person who’d deeply offended his entire bloodline. She leaned in and hummed a low not that made drop off into unconsciousness despite how hard he was fighting. She cleaned the blood off him and lay a blanket over his shirtless form, before plucking something from the table by his side.

The ship was spinning as Tech evaded a fighter shooting at them, and Shiani had to hold Hunter to the gurney to keep him from getting dumped off. “We have to make the jump.” Echo ordered.

“We have to find Omega!” Wrecker yelled back from the tailgun.

“We’re no good to her if Crosshair shoots us down! Make the jump, Tech!” Echo’s voice didn’t brook any arguments, and despite all their feelings it was the logical choice to make.

The Havoc Marauder lurched violently as they cleared the atmosphere and leapt into the eeriness of hyperspace, the silence only broken by the sound of everyone’s heavy breaths. Wrecker leaned over the tailgun controls, Echo putting his hand on the console of the bridge to steady himself. “S-sound off.”

“I’m okay.” Wrecker mumbled.

“I am unharmed.” Tech leaned a head around the cockpit door.

Shiani looked at her own balled up right fist. “I’m okay… Hunter will be okay. Baby Mega’s missing.” She extended her hand out to Echo as he walked over. When he extended his hand, she opened hers. A piece of deformed, mushroom-shaped metal the size of his pinky nail dropped into his palm, and the durasteel was still damp with red blood.

“What is that?” He blinked.

“Slug. From a slugthrower.” Shiani looked at it, sitting still and harmless in Echo's gloved palm. "I took it out of Hunter chest, before bacta. That's why I said wait, so we didn’t close the slug inside the wound."

Tech set the autopilot and walked over to her as she picked Hunter's helmet off the floor. “Shiani…”

She pushed the helmet into his hands before he could embrace her. "You can… review bucket-cam? See who took Baby Mega. We can catch him and get her back."

He nodded. "Excellent idea."

She nodded. "I’ll check on Hunter again. He’ll wake up soon… stubborn brother." She vanished back into the medbay as quickly as she'd come.

"She's in shock." Echo said softly when Tech looked stricken by her sudden departure.

"Yes… you are right." He was more speaking to himself than Echo, comforting himself at the sting of her rejection.

Echo was right. She was just in shock, this was a terrifying ordeal for a civilian. She'd be herself again eventually. Shiani loved him, he knew and accepted that… so why did he hear Crosshair’s voice mocking him again?

"What, you haven't fucked her yet? Afraid she'll swim off cause you turned out to be more of a freak than she is, or did you chicken out when you went to stick your dick in that goddamn mouth?”

No. No, he was not losing Shiani over that. Crosshair was wrong, just like he was wrong about the Empire, and Tech's only mistake had been talking to him one night when they'd both been a little too drunk to think the conversation through.

"I will go review the footage. We will see if Cid's contacts can help us locate whoever took Omega." He said softly. "I am not sure I believe in a divine, but if it exists… that bounty hunter is going to need it."

"Cid's contacts did manage to identify the bounty hunter. His name is Cad Bane." Echo poked Hunter into a seat before the stressed sergeant could reopen his wound by pacing around. "Nothing on who hired him, though."

"This is the second bounty hunter after her." Shiani was sitting, tightly coiled in the chair the girl usually occupied. "Why would somebody want a little girl? If we figure that out, we can figure out who hired Cad."

Tech held up his scanner. "I… may have a theory. I analyzed Omega's genetic signature when calibrating the chip scanner… she has pure, unaltered first-generation DNA."

"An unaltered clone… how many clones like that are there?" Hunter frowned.

"Planning to adopt more babies, Hunter?" Shiani frowned. The sergeant looked away sheepishly, indicating the thought had crossed his mind.

"Just one other. Alpha, later renamed Boba Fett."

"Prime's son." Echo frowned thoughtfully. "No one's seen him since he busted out of prison."

"Precisely. But he, or Omega, would be invaluable in restarting the Kaminoans cloning operation. For the Empire, instead of the Republic."

Shiani hissed softly, bursting into blue rings and covering her mouth with mouth hands. "Then that's the answer. Long-necks." It made her sick, but the anger soothed over her otherwise crippling fear. The long-necks took Omega, to hurt her like they'd hurt the sirens. She couldn't let that happen. "Can you track her comm?"

"I can try, but it will be complex if the device is disabled." Tech nodded

"You’re the smartest man in the galaxy. We’ll find her." The siren met his eyes. "I know you can do it."

Echo nodded. "I'll start trying to boost our long range scanners and see what we pick up. Hunter… stay put for the love of Manda. Wrecker, you're Hunter-sitting." The corporal headed to the bridge to work.

Wrecker sat beside Hunter as Shiani bowed her head, watching the siren think for a while. She looked so serious and upset, light-years away from the cheerful and bright eyed Shiani he knew. "You okay?"

"I need to be helping. I don’t know how." She muttered against her knees.

"You already did a lot. You saved Hunter's life." He pointed out. "None of us would have thought about the slug. We're used to blaster wounds… where'd you learn that, anyway?"

"Tech speaks Mando’a sometimes. I wanted to understand more… read about the language. Then history. Mandalorians used slugthrowers to fight Jedi lightsabers a long time ago. There were accounts of injured Jedi. I’m not squeamish, so I read that too." She looked up. “Couldn’t let it happen to Hunter.”

Wrecker reached out, putting a massive hand on her head. “See? You did a lot.”

“Not enough. Not until the family is all back together.” She looked at Hunter. He was even more worried than she was about Omega, which was impressive considering how her hearts seemed out of sync the longer the girl was missing.

Idly, she wondered if the others felt the same way about Crosshair’s absence.

Hunter leaned over a little and leaned against Shiani, brotherly comfort she hadn’t realized she needed until she was melting against his side and Wrecker pulled them both into a hug as gently as he could. “We’ll get her back, guys.” The big clone murmured faintly.

Shiani nodded, looking up at Tech’s back as he had returned to his spot in the pilot’s seat. As soon as everyone was safe, because she refused to accept that they wouldn’t be, she wanted to curl up against Tech’s chest and just cry her hearts out. But not until her meltdown wasn’t a distraction. Not until she was sure she wouldn’t cause him to make a mistake that lost them their precious little sister.

"I'm picking up something on the comm." Echo called.

"Hunter? …. -ho? Tech? Wreck-... -ani?" Omega's voice was broken up by static, but everyone lurched at their names.

"Omega?!" Hunter nearly dumped himself on the floor in an attempt to climb through the comm and get to her. "Omega, where are you?!"

"I'm not sure… facility… machines like Tipoca City…"

"I'm getting a read on the Lido system." Echo whispered. "The signal isn't strong enough."

"Omega, try to cause a power surge." Tech ordered, hooking his datapad up.

"Okay."

They waited in agonizing silence as the girl breathed through the static.

"I've got something." Tech started. Before he could explain, the comm started rustling and Hunter's skin prickled at the sound of Cad Bane's voice.

"Let me go! Hunter, I need you!"

"Omega!" The sergeant froze at a crunching sound that left the comm dead. "Where is she, Tech?"

"The signal is coming from Bora Vio." The genius ran for the cockpit again, setting the navi-computer. "Hold on."

Everyone braced as they lurched the correct direction. Shiani let Hunter squeeze the life out of her tentacles, teeth clenched.

We’re coming for you, Baby Mega. Hold on.

"Cloud coverage is not ideal." Tech muttered. Bora Vio was swathed in it, and even as Echo scanned for another ship signature they had only Omega's last known to go on. If the bounty hunter had moved her-

"Flying thing!" From the rear of the ship, Shiani was pressed against the tailgun glass. "Round pod!" She had no idea what to call it, but she could at least describe it.

"It's falling out of the sky. Scoop it up, Tech." Hunter ordered. Somewhere deep in his chest, he was sure she was on board.

Shiani came running out of the back, throwing Wrecker into a seat and yanking his lap bar down as Tech dove. Three tentacles suction cupped her to the wall, the fourth holding Hunter from going flying. Tech was a masterful pilot, and they locked the pod into place before it hit the ground.

The siren jogged to the hatch before Wrecker could get himself out of his seat and opened it, peeking in. "Baby Mega?"

"Shiani?!" A pair of terrified brown eyes looked up at her, the girl holding up still cuffed hands from inside the pod.

Shiani sat on the floor and stretched her tentacles down, wrapping securely around the little one's waist and hauling her up and into the air above the siren's head. "You hurt?"

"N-no…" Omega whimpered.

Shiani brought her down into comforting arms as she jettisoned the pod with her free limbs. "Shh. You’re safe now." Her claw dug into the lock of the cuffs, tripping the mechanism until they popped open. "There. Better?"

"Y-yeah… thank you…"

Shiani carried her into the front of the ship, setting Omega on her feet delicately. The blonde immediately ran to Hunter, who winced when she collided with his injury but hugged her back anyway. "We got you. You're okay now." He whispered, all the fight melting from his exhausted body.

"Why is this happening? What do they want from me?" She whispered.

"You've got to tell her, Hunter." Echo sighed.

While Hunter knelt slowly to explain what Tech had discovered about her genetics, Shiani ran to the cockpit. Tech was turned around in the pilot's seat, having set the nav, and was watching the reunion with his usual detached expression. The kid was safe, everything else was okay…

He looked up at Shiani as she approached, expression giving nothing away. "Yes?"

"You okay with touching right now?" She whispered.

He nodded curiously, and was surprised when she simply climbed into his arms and buried her face in his shoulder. "Are you alright, cyar'ika?"

"I was so scared." Her teeth chattered. "It's over now, don't have to… pretend to be brave now. Can I just have a hug? I hated all of that."

His arms wound tightly over her. "I am here." Relief flooded him. She'd been propping herself up, not running. Echo had been right. "I've got you."

Safe in his arms, Shaini pressed her cheek to his chest and finally sobbed out the terror of it all. The Empire, Crosshair, the gunshot wound in Hunter's chest, the loss of Omega… no, she wasn't a soldier like them. But she was part of this family now, and that came with a monumental amount of uncertainty. At least she had Tech, her very best friend in the entire galaxy.

"Come on. Let's get back to your bed… I will stay with you for a while. It will be almost a full rotation back to Ord Mantell." Tech picked her up and carried her to their bed. He was happy to support her now, and keep her to himself a little while.

He’d been scared too, but it was easier to get comfort from her under the guise of giving it.

#explict #original character #clone force 99 #the bad batch #fanfic #tbb tech #star wars #oc shiani illumai

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doomedandstoned · 7 months ago

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Ireland’s TEN TON SLUG Oozes with Filth and Fury on ‘Colossal Oppressor’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Artwork by Adam Burk/Nightjar Illustration

From the City of Tribes, comes TEN TON SLUG, a band that really does live up to its name for its massive attack and weighty sound. We featured the Galway four-piece some years back on our compilation Doomed & Stoned in Ireland and now, after teasing us with two EPs in 2016 and 2017, they are back with their debut full-length, 'Colossal Oppressor' (2024).

Ten Ton Slug's name reminds me of the iconic album cover of the Conan & Slomatics split back in 2012, which showed a warrior atop a slithering ogre. Of course, that was a snail not a slug, but if you've ever wondered what it would be like to encounter a mollusk of such proportions, look no further than the seven mighty tracks before us.

The record begins appropriately with "The Ooze," ushering us to a scene besieged by oppression and war. "They cast us to the fires, they push us towards the sea," growls frontman Rónán Ó hÁrrachtáin. "Subjugation is here!" Right off we get a feel for the kind of energy the band brings to the stage, with unrelenting rhythms from Pavol Rosa (bass) and Kelvin Doran (drums). Rónán fires off fierce, sludgey vocals, with backing vox and killer groove metal riffs from Sean Sullivan. The tone and tenor is not surprising from guys who've been in such acts as Weed Priest and Soothsayer.

"Balor" is next, and gives a play-by-play of those in the throes of a wild horde. In Celtic mythology, Balor was chief of the Fomoire, a crazed race of demons who threatened the Irish with extinction during the chaotic second battle of Mag Tuired. "Jump to deny these false gods, rip them out!" Rónán urges his people, echoing the war cries of past generations. "Banish them all from their dystopian thrones!" The sentiment of the song is certainly relatable to anyone living under the hand of hapless leadership or the whims of dictators. Riffs seem to characterize the fluttering of demonic wings and vocals are dripping with caustic ire.

"Ancient Ways" dons a racing heartbeat in explosive drumming from Kelvin Doran, then the mood becomes dark and doomy as the band warns of gathering storms. "Plant your feet, take a brace, hold your ground!" adjures Rónán, "Ancient ways prevail, gaining strength to kill." Meanwhile, Sean Sullivan delivers ominous tech-death style riffage (as you'll hear later on the single "Mindless and Blind"), then belts out a piercing classic metal solo. Pavol Rosa's basswork is almost jazzy.

Dissonance rules the day in "Brutus" and brutal it is, featuring a collaboration from none other than Karl Willetts of Bolt Thrower fame (currently heading up Memoriam). His approach is low toned and raspy, almost as if he is breathing fire. All three vocalists play off each other with intimidating effect.

Another highlight of the record for sure is "Mallacht an tSloda," a song entirely in the Irish language. Ten Ton Slug explain it "captures the fury and wrath of the wretched oppressed who curse and revile their oppressor using the finest of Gaelic curses and ill-sentiments (to which the characteristic sound of the Irish language lends itself so well)." Fans of Tasmania's Psycroptic will find much to admire here, and the singing in the final minutes is the deadliest we've heard thus far.

The record finishes on "Mogore the Unkind", the longest track at nine-and-a-half minutes. It contains lines of ancient Hittite, a mysterious kingdom only uncovered archaeologically in 1834 but memorialized in Egyptian writings and reliefs. The Hittites were famous for their chariots of war, these "dark warlords of Hattusha." The song is about blood, sand, betrayal, and burning cities. A fitting end to this damning tour de force.

One more thing you should know, Ten Ton Slug tells us:

The last notes on the album were played by the remnants of a prehistoric lumbering beast that lived some 20,000 years ago...using a plec made from the tusk of a Siberian Mammoth, paying homage to the colossal beasts of the past.

This monster slithers out on vinyl, compact disc, and digital formats on Wednesday, May 1st (pre-order here).

And now get ready for a wild ride, as Doomed & Stoned gives you a first listen to Ten Ton Slug's Colossal Oppressor.

Give ear...

Colossal Oppressor by Ten Ton Slug

SOME BUZZ

Ten Ton Slug originated in the depths of Connemara in the west of Ireland in 2014 and plays a riff-filled mix of sludge and doom characterised by huge riffs and pummeling drums coupled with dynamic and charismatic heavy vocals.

The Slug has gained a stellar live reputation and a loyal and ever-expanding fanbase throughout Ireland, the UK and beyond, having shared stages with bands such as Black Label Society, Corrosion of Conformity, Memoriam, Crowbar, Conan, Jinjer, Bongzilla and more.

Self-organised tours across the UK, Ireland and brief runs into Europe as both support and headliner alongside appearances at notable festivals including Bloodstock Open Air and Metaldays have helped spread the slime far and wide; continuing this year with the band’s upcoming slot at Maryland Doom Fest and run of shows in the USA in mid 2024.

Two studio releases (‘Brutal Gluttonous Beast’ and ‘Blood and Slime’), one live EP (’Live at the Siege of Limerick’) and a single (‘Hunting Ground’) have all garnered excellent reviews to date, and May 2024 sees release of the long awaited and eagerly anticipated debut album Colossal Oppressor, featuring guest vocals by Karl Willetts of Memoriam/Bolt Thrower on the track "Brutus."

‘Colossal Oppressor’ is a slab of triple distilled slime that constitutes the culmination of over five years of work and dedication. It features all the elements from previous Ten Ton Slug releases such as powerful riffs and huge drums with Ronan’s characteristic vocals layered on top, yet develops them further and expands on them by incorporating more dynamic bass, developed songwriting and a wider variety of different grooves, atmosphere and melodic feels resulting in an album the Slug will be proud to enslave humanity to.

With cover art by Adam Burke of Nightjar illustration and guest vocals by Karl Willetts on the track "Brutus," ‘Colossal Oppressor’ melds doom, sludge, and metal elements to create 40+ minutes of prime riffage. The album expands upon the previous sound of the Slug incorporating new languages and elements including acoustic guitar intros, interludes, leadwork and more of a dual vocal approach.

TEN TON SLUG ON TOUR

Ireland

May 3rd - Limerick (tix)

May 5th - Dublin (tix)

North America

June 19th - Cambridge, Massachusetts @The Middle East (upstairs)

June 20th - New York (TBA)

June 21st - Frederick, Maryland @Maryland Doom Fest

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

#D&S Debuts #Ten Ton Slug #Galway #Ireland #doom metal #groove metal #sludge #D&S Reviews #Doomed and Stoned

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